


Stone dust

by GrumpyTsundereShipper



Category: One Punch
Genre: M/M, Prince Genos, Stonemason Saitama, pauper Saitama, poor saitama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-07 09:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19206163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyTsundereShipper/pseuds/GrumpyTsundereShipper
Summary: Prince Genos. Poor Stonemason Saitama. An assassination attempt. Cliche ish.





	1. Chapter 1

Saitama had started his day under a cloud of misery, knowing he had 16 orders to complete before the day’s end. Of course, he hadn’t actually ‘started the day’, because he had never finished the other, obvious by the darkening circles under his darker eyes. The man would’ve cried but it would’ve just created steam, the heat billowing from every pore of his house was the reason he could never introduce any plants into his house. Unsurprisingly he had used little wood to construct his house. To the chagrin of his herbalist friend, Mumien, who would stand a few meters away from his house and take deep breaths in preparation before entering; too polite to refuse to enter. 

The dust and powder must’ve settled in Saitama’s lungs years ago because the mist of pale powder that shifted lazily in the humid air did nothing but lean out of the bald man’s way as he waded to each anvil that waited patiently for his attention. His house, of a modest size, was his workshop. The pillars and mismatched curved stone chunks that stole his space mimicked chewed away pillars, it’s body leaning deformed against others, trying to defy its weight. With cheap beer in his system Saitama could’ve mistaken them for other men, whispering mournfully about their missing pieces. The cramped shack was home.

The egg stayed relatively oblivious to the outside world, including his clients, but even a deaf man had heard of the royal family, that and the fact Saitama had done a little work for the Royal family at one point. The unwed king and his adopted cyborg son, a sob story that could bring tears to any maiden or man with half a heart. Usually Saitama tried hard to ignore the gossip from his clients as he worked but when their tears diluted the mortar he was laying so carefully he then had attention to spare. So when it came around that the Prince was touring through the village Saitama had to make extra strong mortar. The Prince hadn’t even entered the town and yet he was already a pain in the ass.

 

The entrance was due in a weeks time. The village was in disarray, men and women scrambling around in preparation for a royal reception, meaning pigs and cows prepared to feed the village over a month were slaughtered prematurely and roasted furiously to cover only a night of celebration, celebrating the glimpse of the blond prince that occupied every village girl’s fantasy. 

Saitama watched the peparations, unchanging eye’s flickering between the clients’ ravings and the tears of emotion being mixed into his extra strong mortar. It had been a night before the arrival when the chaos had reached its head, Saitama had been finishing the church’s new and fancier doorway, streams of chipped bleak stone strong armed into shape tucked their tails behind the polished wood door, standing at an impressive 8 foot. 

It was a night of rest, the red sky that morning had foreshadowed poor luck but Saitama didn’t listen to those stories. Aside from having to catch 3 falling ladders off of decorating villagers whilst carrying 3 large carved stone blocks, nothing had happened. 

So when the bald stonemason had finally got home from the town square still blinking away the obnoxiously blinding gold streamers that had been meticulously tossed over window shutters and sills that had scolded his tired eyes he took no notice of the smashed in window. 

The patch work house had not been raided but there was food missing. A cough from the back room was what alerted Saitama of the other person in his house, “Mumen is that you? I told you dude I know I gave you that key but it’s only if you need to pick up your roses.” The stone mason called out into the darkening house, shrugging off the layer of stone powder that had shifted uneasily in the tension. 

The bald man dodged a pillar of climbing stone, heading towards the cough. Passing through the waning wooden doorframe Saitama felt one of his hammers connect with his shoulder. Hammer shattered into splinters on his sweaty shoulder. Taken aback by the attack, he took a step back before tackling the taller attacker. They both went down, bashing the concrete floor with enough force to concuss. The other man was quick to try and flip Saitama, underestimating his strength. Saitama had the blond man on his chest, arms securely fastened behind him. 

The other man took this time to speak. “I’ll kill you, let go!” This was rewarded with a deadpan from the bald winner, unseen by his blond captive. “Then why would I let go of you? Dude calm down.”

The man seemed to relax at ‘dude’ but still struggled like a pinned serpent. “A fair fight.” Saitama would’ve laughed at this if he had been a more emotional man. They sat in silence for a while, the burglar had given up fighting after it was made clear the stonemason was stronger than him. 

Not caring if he ran, Saitama slid off of him, removing his large calloused hands from his wrists. The burglar lay on the powder and mud stained floor for a moment, visibly weighing his options, before choosing to lean his back against the stone pillar that had leered over their squabble in the rising dust . 

They regarded each other for a moment, the stonemason blanking at the torn expensive clothing and the other reading into Saitama’s stone caked muscles. 

“You live here.” The man said bluntly, as if finally noticing that someone should live in a house.  
“And you’re a cyborg.” Saitama shot back. The blond cyborg flinched, but still didn’t move, staring at the other man intensely. The cyborg ran a hand over his face, slumping his shoulders quietly. A bad day, the egg concluded, rubbing his own shoulders. 

Silence hung heavier than the heat until the cyborg deemed it fit to open his mouth. “I am truly sorry mister for barging into your house, I was being escorted from the city to your town in a large caravan of 20 officials, 11 of which were trained knights that were supposed to protect us. Two are my personal guards. It was when we were crossing a bridge a few miles from here that a band of rebels attacked our party. It was a tough fight but they overpowered our troops because there were so many of them, the ambush was not seen coming and very much planned beforehand which I suspect was an inside job. Could’ve been anyone in the city because this event was so publicized so I cannot be certain. But still, after a courageous fight our men fell to the rebels, but one managed to sneak me out the back whilst the rebels were busy raiding the back of the caravan for jewels-“

“That’s enough! Keep it to 20 words or less.” Overworked, tired and hungry, yet Saitama was stuck with this guy running his mouth like he was paid by the word. “Let’s start with who you are and why you’re here.” 

The cyborg’s eyes widened, as if shocked by the question. “My name is Genos, I’m part of the royal family and I’m here because someone tried to assassinate me.” Saitama absorbed the Information nonchalantly, undeterred by it. 

“Wonderful,” heaving himself up to a standing position, he wiped off the mud irritably, “the town center is 20 minutes along the path.” 

The Prince’s pale golden eyes flashed wider, “I cannot! The assassins may still be out there!”  
Saitama quickly busied himself with clearing away the mess of chains, files and Hammers as the Prince ranted about the outside dangers. “Look man, not my problem alright? I’m sure another villager will take you in.” Picking up the Hammer that had hit him in the shoulder he shook his head at the ruined tool, tossing the two pieces aside. Genos’s head ducked in shame, apologizing mid rant. 

“I truly am sorry sir! I do hope you’ll allow me to cover the charge of that thing, you see I thought you were an assassin that had followed me from the caravan. Although it is amazing how it snapped in half-“ 

“Oi dude!” Saitama snapped, horrified, his unemotional voice filled with irritation. The taller man became flustered, embarrassed. There was Saitama’s cauldron filled with the extra strong Mortar saved for a week’s work on its side in the corner of the workshop, spilling over the floor. No wonder he had to wipe mud off of himself. 

“I am so sor-“  
“Stop apologizing and help me!” The bald man snapped back at the Prince, who stuttered out a yes before getting on his knees and trying to slop the mix of mud and clay back into its container. Once the majority of it was back in its cauldron Saitama snapped round at the nuisance, features sharp with irritation “I don’t need you to pay for another hammer and it’s Saitama, not mister or sir, I’m only 24!” 

Genos ducked his head, bowing out of a mixture of shame, “I am truly sorry Saitama-san!” The bald stonemasoner just sighed, rubbing his eyes, already tired of the other man. “Look, Prince Genos don’t you want to get back or something? I’m too tired for this.” 

“Please just Genos! I cannot go anywhere until royal soldiers have come to the town and you are the only one I know is not an enemy or assassin!” The cyborg’s eyes practically glowed and suddenly Saitama had a sneaking suspicion that nothing was going to make the prince leave his house. It had only occurred to Saitama later than he had made the mistake of using his first name without any fixture. 

A sigh of defeat was released from Saitama’s neutral expression. “Okay okay, and how long till that?” An enthusiastic reply was given, 6 days. Saitama wanted to cry. Genos coughed again. 

The bald guy just wanted to go to bed. “Fine you can sleep here, but only for the night. In the morning you have to find a place for you to stay, okay?” Genos nodded furiously, brushing off his silky untucked top, it's snowy ends soaked with the fluid mortar and blemished with stone dust. 

“Thank you Saitama-sama, I am forever in your debt!” Saitama blanked, sama??

“And Genos, if you even think of stealing anything don’t even try it.” Genos responded by nodding furiously again, an expression of absolute seriousness on his handsome face. Saitama ran his hands over his face, smudging the brown mortar on his shiny head. A few minutes of standing in awkward silence before Genos's apologies settled in the air, impossibly thicker than the humming heat. So Saitama left him there, the crown prince, standing in his workshop surrounded by nosy 9ft frozen men, to go to bed. He didnt want to question where Genos was going to sleep, what he was going to eat and why he was watching him with burning eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Saitama had woken up in his narrow cot, amazed that his back wasn't hurting. The man who normally slept hunched over an anvil drew this up to a miracle. The next surprising event was that the sun had barely risen. Now, as a man, Saitama was notoriously lazy if he had the time to be so waking up this early on a day off made him suspicious. The soft apologies rising from the first floor made the half asleep stone mason physically roll both his eyes and body, he had forgotten the boy was still in the house.   
Who on earth the Prince was apologising to this early in the morning Saitama didnt know but he hoped it wasnt another accident with the mortar. 

 

In between handfuls of mud and clay the Prince shot up to watch Saitama descend the makeshift stairs, tugging his now brown silk shirt down in an attempt to look more presentable. But what Saitama saw was another batch of Mortar pooling on his already filthy floor. "I am so incredibly sorry Saitama-sama I stumbled when i came in over it and its all over the place I am a disappointment completely inexcuseable-"

"Genos!" At the sudden attention Saitama hastily tagged on "-san" mildly aware of his slip up yesterday. Genos looked slightly off put by the add on but did not comment. "Look kid, just put it back in," Genos was already on his knees, reintroducing the mud to his no-doubt priceless trousers, "and why the hell are you awake so early in the god damned morning?" 

"Because it is a Prince's duty to always be diligent and not waste a second of the day." Saitama deadpanned at the perky answer, replying to preppy Prince that it sounded like he had recited that from a book. Genos blushed. 

 

"Fine, as you woke me up, I'd better start working or something." A shy hand pressed against his shoulder, barring him from entering further into the workshop. "Please Saitama-sama first I thought I could make breakfast before you start working." It was as the blond said this that the house owner made eye contact with a creature with equally tired eyes. Upon his table a stag lay, styled like a terrible actor acting out a death scene. Saitama had no words. 

 

"Just wait 10 minutes, it will be ready soon enough." The staring match broken, Saitama nodded lamely, already recognising the glint of determination in the Prince's porcelain face. The stag was impressive, in fact it was so big it's body frowned against the table in an attempt to stay balanced, the antlers securely resting on the floor.   
"How did you get this thing?" The bald man walked around the stag, admiring it in its unmoving glory. Genos didnt move away from the fire, instead calling over his shoulder, "It was easy Saitama-san, I thought that I would repay you for your kind hostipitality so I started to think how exactly I could pay you back but the only thing I could think of that I could do was hunt, fortunately most royalty are required to learn the art of the hunt. You see it is incredibly important to know how to hunt because many consider it a link to the people as many still have to hunt, also its wonderful excersize and works to show off the strength of the hunter-"  
"Shut up! Nevermind I dont need to know." Genos apologised again, a few more times for authenticity purposes and then carried on to cook the meat. 

 

After breakfast Saitama started to work. His day could be postponed, especially with a certain Prince of the nation glued to him, muttering under his breath about techniques and mastery. Glued is not an exaggeration, the boy had no spacial awareness, half the time he was barely a breath away from Saitama. He had thought at least the heat would push Genos into retreating out of the house for even a few hours like Mumen, but no. Instead Genos shadowed him, flitting between the unstable pillars clumsily, often threatening the mortar pot. At noon while Saitama had been chiselling at arched block that he had snapped, sending the Royal into the cool outside. 

The blond returned with half the forest dead and thrown over his shoulder. A week's supply of food caught within 2 hours, because thats as long as Genos could be away from the house. Saitama assumed it was the fear of assassination. So, with renewed patience, Saitama allowed him back in the house. Genos continued to follow Saitama until late midday, when Saitama sent him out once again on a 'errand'. 

That very outlandish errand was completed in record time. Apparently flowers that only grew miles away could be reached and returned within an hour. With the arched stones finished Saitama retired once again, leaving Genos alone in the workshop with mud on his hands and endless apologies in his mouth.

Later that night Saitama's plain eyes flicked open with one realisation. Wasn't Genos only meant to stay the night?


	3. Chapter 3

Saitama had been woken up again in the same fashion. He would have been in a terrible mood if the crashing wasn’t much louder and reoccurring. So he pushed himself out of his cot, the cold padding on his feet melted into a run to the stairs. He was in the only to see Genos with one hand in the other man’s hair as he tried to tear the other man away from the tools rack. The shorter man had grasped a chisel in his free hand and was awkwardly inching it closer to Genos’s face. The old stone men lay scattered around, giving away the earlier struggle. Saitama tore the assassin off of Genos, his fist connecting with his nose, easily making the man flip over a stone block. After flipping, the man fell awkwardly, his head clicking on a nearby felled block leaving him to flutter and then mutely his body softened. 

Saitama hurried to check on the man, confirming he had only been knocked out. Next was Genos, who after being released was lying with his hands outstretched behind him and a look of dazed relief. The stonemason sighed, knowing the Prince wouldn’t answer any of his questions for a moment so started restacking his pillars up in relation to client orders. Once completed Saitama tiredly worked around Genos, dragged the man outside, bending a metal pipe around his hands and clicking his nose back as closely as he could. 

“Saitama-sama!” Ah, so hes back, Saitama thought carefully, heading to another fallen pillar. He ignored the way Genos scrambled to his feet, already latching himself onto his arm, eyes wide. “You saved my life! After all of your hospitality you have gone on to even save my life! I am enternally grateful, please accept me... as your disciple!”

Blinking slowly for a silent moment, Saitama hurriedly denied the disciple request, “but if you want to pay me back how about never waking me up like that again?”

The saved quickly supplied that he would endeavour to fulfill the wish, but that would not be enough to atone for the generous debt Saitama had bestowed on him that day. Perhaps it was the embarrassment of the absolutely serious tone that Genos pledged himself to Saitama with or the frustration of being threatened of a permenant blond leech that made Saitama flush and look away. Whatever it was resulted in the bald Stonemason to miss the look that crossed Genos’s face when he turned to gaze upon his attacker.

The rest of the day went relatively normally, only with a slight twist, Genos was demanding knowledge as he watched. Usually he’d just hover, flitting around Saitama’s hunched body, staring at the anvil with wonder and asking how he could help. Instead he was doing the exact same thing but with a flurry of questions related to every minuscule of the trade, “Master Saitama-“ said master practically growled at the new nickname, “Saitama-Sensei,” the noise of distaste was ignored, “how much force should I put into each of the collisions between the hammer and the chisel to the stone?” “Why do you change the chisels you use? How can you tell which ones are the ones you do the drafting with?” “I thought there was only one type of hammer Sensei! What’s the difference between a mallet and a hammer?”

Now, Saitama could tolerate the hovering, the incessant whining about needing to help and the royal propaganda that came in 55 minute long speeches but having to answer try to answer the building stream of questions made his head hurt. This was because of a very simple reason; Saitama was a simple man. Many have speculated that the people who have a natural affinity or talent for something are the worst teachers of that subject and Saitama was undeniably a prodigy at stonemasonry. 

It was a fact that a physical symbol of his talent had hung over Genos’s head every time he entered or left his or his father’s rooms, additions to the palace added only 5 years before. Saitama had been 19, a year after he had decided his career path was stonemasonry. 

 

So Saitama attempted to answer for a few hours, “you should put in as much as you think you should. Look here watch me and then try-“ that lesson ended with an expensive chunk of granite in fist sized chunks. “I change the chisels because of the differences in edges let me change how much i take off and carve, which parts I smooth and yeah, try with the cross cut chisel to just make a groove in the left over granite.” Powder, granite powder after that lesson. 

By only the third question out of hundreds that had begun to unload out of the Prince’s metallic mouth Saitama was beginning to feel a tightening in the bottom of his throat, irritation physically crushing his breathing and patience. 

“Drafting chisels are usually smaller and flatter to stop overchipping, which would waste the entire block. Look, I’ll demomstrate and then manually help you through the process. Okay?” So the experience stone mason positioned himself behind the blond cyborg prince, looping his arms around the other man’s to secure his hold on the chisel. Saitama would’ve noticed his own flusterment at the position if he hadn’t been so focused on stopping more powder being made. Genos however, was apparently not as focused, for despite Saitama holding his grip, the cyborg melted the end of metal chisel in his hands. 

This time it had been basic Ashlar, nothing that Saitama couldn’t waste. The chisel however, was brand new, a gift from the blacksmith for Saitama’s work on the church. 

 

Genos found himself for the rest of the day again on made-up errands.

 

The mild breeze had swiped over Saitama and Genos’s dinner in the late evening when the home owner remembered something. Rising off of his chunk-of-sandstone chair, he slipped out from beside the sandstone-block table, ignoring his self proclaimed protégée’s nonverbal protest. After entering the workshop his dark eyes sought the spot he had left the assassin, only to see in astonishment that the unconscious man had seemingly evaporated with the rising steam. 

“Genos where did the dude go?” Calling calmly, pondering over to the barely disturbed layer of stone dust which had now settled over the incredibly fresh battle ground. “Ah I just moved him outside Sensei, the man was taking up space you needed to work. The food’s getting cold Sensei.” The matter was then dropped, the desire for Genos’s underseasoned Deer stew was enough to distract Saitama from most things.


End file.
